


Apart Together

by mapleandmahogany



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, M/M, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-17
Updated: 2006-07-23
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:58:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapleandmahogany/pseuds/mapleandmahogany
Summary: Harry loses his Ron, but never leaves his side.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

Many thanks to Shocolate for the beta work!!

This was voted a Featured Story in The Broomshed-The Changing Room for August 2006. Thank you for the nomination and votes!!

* * *

Part I

 

~^~^~^

_Don’t die, Ron. Please wake up._  

The thought that saving me might be the last thing Ron did with his life is killing me. With every rise and fall of his chest I wonder if I’m watching his last breath pass his lips, holding my own until his chest rises again. 

 

I’ve already heard the whispers calling me a _hero._ They don’t know that Ron is the hero. That everything Dumbledore said was true; _love was my gift_. 

 

_Ron_ was my gift. He shielded me from the last curse that Voldemort made. Ron took Merlin only knows what kind Black Magic to the head and it gave me the extra second I needed to destroy Riddle once and for all. 

 

Now, here in St. Mungo’s all I can do is hold onto Hermione and remind myself to breath.

 

We’ve watched for hours as the healers work to counter the unknown magic that Ron’s mind has absorbed and the injuries to his body from the fall he took. 

 

It only adds to the guilt churning in me that I don’t have anything more than a scratch.

 

~^~

 

Eventually we are told that the swelling of Ron’s brain has subsided and the rest of his physical wounds will heal in time. We won’t know what additional damage the magic may have done until he wakes up.

 

If he wakes up.

 

Ron’s family arrives; they fret and they fuss. As do Order members and Ministry officials. All the while I can only sit next in chair near Ron’s bedside. Hermione sits on his other side. She holds his hand while he lies there motionless. 

 

I don’t hold his hand. Doing so might betray my true feelings. Only Hermione knows how desperately I want to be holding his hand like she is.

 

Several hours later, after the initial commotion of our arrival has calmed down, most people have left or gone for food. Hermione and I haven’t left Ron. Someone will have to bring our food. 

 

Ron makes the first sound I’ve heard from him since he yelled out my name during the final fight and flung himself in front of me. 

 

He groans and winces. His eyes shut tight. “My head… aches,” he says sounding weak and small, reaching for his forehead.

 

“You took a nasty blow to the head, mate, but you’ve been patched up,” I say to him. I hope I don’t sound too anxious. I don’t know if I can feel relieved yet. He looks like he’s in so much pain.

 

“My legs,” he says, “I can’t move them” Ron’s voice is scratchy, but sounds well.

 

“It’s just a temporary leg locking spell,” Hermione says, using her ‘business as usual voice.’ “They had to banish some of your broken bones and tissues and you are growing them again. You may have to… well-- learn to walk again. But you’re strong, Ron, you are going to be fine.”

 

He continues to rub his head and eyes.

 

“Hurts… everything, _hurts_ …” 

 

“Harry, get the potion,” Hermione whispers to me, pointing to the bedside table.

 

“Here, mate,” I say, taking the bottle and quickly sitting next to Ron. I put my arm under his shoulders and lift him slightly, pulling him into me, while holding the potion bottle to his lips. “This stuff isn’t too bad,” I say, “we’ve had plenty in our time, right?”

 

With his eyes still closed he reaches out and clasps his shaking hands over mine on the bottle. Together we tilt it upwards and he drinks. As I set the potion down, he grips his head again, writhing in pain. 

 

“Hold on, Ron,” I say, holding him close to my chest as he fights the pain. The whimpering sounds he makes are unbearable. “It’ll pass soon, the potion will help in just a second.” I rock him and stroke his hair while he presses his head against me. 

 

I feel his body relax after another moment and he becomes heavy in my arms as the pain relieving potion takes it’s effect. I carefully lay him back down on his pillow.

 

Hermione reaches across the bed and takes my hand. We look at each other, we’re both afraid to have hope yet.

 

Ron slowly opens his eyes, squinting and shielding them with his fingers as if the room is too bright. He looks straight at me, and though I smile at him, he furrows his brow looking confused. 

 

Then he is gone again. His auburn eyelashes flutter shut and he drifts off to sleep. I’m not certain, but I almost think I saw a hint of a smile on his lips.

  

~^~

 

Late into the night we get Ron into a secured room. I didn’t notice until Hermione points out that it’s a suite really. It’s a more lavish hospital room than I’ve ever seen, but it’s still a hospital room. 

 

Ron will still hate it.  

 

The healers have declared that Ron just needs to sleep off. 

 

The Weasleys’ and our friends and colleagues leave with vows of calling first thing in the morning. 

 

No one has suggested that Hermione or I leave.

 

The room is finally quiet. Hermione casts a locking charm on the entrance.

 

“We’re alone for the night. No one will come through that door until I lower the barrier,” she tells me. 

 

This is how it’s been for so long now, just the three of us.

 

I immediately go to Ron’s side, sitting on the bed next to him. Now that I’m so close to him, and he’s so still, I’m suddenly nervous. Hermione seems to know.

 

“It’s okay, Harry. The Healers said he’ll be fine, he just has to sleep off the trauma.”

 

“He did it, Hermione. He saved us,” I say, looking down at his peaceful face and touching his scratched knuckles. I’ve been silent most of the day and my voice is hoarse. “It’s because of him that I was able to do it.”

 

“I know. I’m proud of you both,” she says, standing behind me with her arms around me, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Go ahead and lie down with him, Harry. I think he’d like to feel you close. It might even help him get better.” 

 

If I weren’t so distraught I might be embarrassed by her direct instruction to sleep in Ron’s bed with him. We don’t usually make any display of our relationship. It’s not our way to let other people in, but of course Hermione knows, she’s always known. 

 

Never wanting her to feel excluded, we stick to ‘mates as usual’ when she’s around. Fortunately for us, over the past months the research Hermione was doing kept her away several nights at a time. 

 

Those were the nights when we got past awkward kisses and trembling touches until being together was no longer new, but always exciting.

 

After I kick off my shoes, I pull back the sheet and lie down next to him, resting my head on his shoulder. I bury my face into his neck, hooking one leg over his. I take the heavy weight of his long arm and wrap it around my waist, holding his hand in place with my own. Feeling his warmth and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat is the most assurance I have had all day. I suppose I may still be in some shock from the battle as well, but if Ron is okay, I will be too. 

 

“He’s strong, he’s going to be okay,” Hermione says, covering us with the sheet. She brushes Ron’s shagging hair off his forehead and kisses the side of mine.

 

“Get some sleep, Harry. We’ll talk to him tomorrow, I’m sure of it.”

 

I know she transfigures something into a bit of bed for herself, but I just keep my eyes on Ron. I want him to tighten his arm around me, and give me that grin of his and kiss me. We have a hard fought victory celebration waiting for us, but all I want right now is to see him open those bright blue eyes.

 

I talk quietly into his ear, so that not even Hermione can hear.

 

“I’m here. I’m holding on to you, can you feel me? Don’t let go okay?” His hair is so soft against my face. “Remember last night? You told me that you weren’t afraid of dying, only of living without me. Well, I made it. I’m here because of you. I’m waiting for you.” 

  _Please wake up again, Ron._

_~^~_

 

All too soon, I feel a nudge on my shoulder. I’m painfully aware of the numbness in my bottom leg and arm because I slept in the same position wrapped around Ron all night.

 

“It’s morning, Harry, I’m sorry. The healers will be here soon, you know?” 

 

“Right,” I mutter without moving. It’s so hard to let him go again. I squeeze Ron tightly one more time and press my lips to his cheek. With my face buried in his neck and hair I whisper, “I love you.”

 

I hope he heard that. 

 

As the morning passes Hermione and I take turns getting cleaned up and changed. 

 

We alternate pacing the room and sitting with Ron. I’m going mental seeing the body of my tall, strong friend -my love, just lying there. 

 

He’s not tapping his toe, or drumming his fingers, or twirling his wand. 

 

He’s just motionless.

 

It’s all I can do not to climb into the bed and hold him in my arms again. 

 

My second choice of activity is to yell and rage and blast whatever gets in my way, but as I’m not willing to leave Ron’s room I have to be content with pacing.

 

I finally get a moment of privacy with him during the lunch hour I take the chance the to hold his hand and lay my head over his heart and listen to its encouraging rhythm. 

 

Then it happens.

 

I feel him begin to stir under me and my heart skips a beat. His head rolls slightly from side to side and he flexes and stretches just like he always does when he wakes. 

 

“Ron? Do you feel okay?” I ask.

 

His eyelids flutter, but he squints again, and looks around the room. Then, for the first time in a very long time I see a glint of fear in his eyes. 

 

He looks lost.

 

“Hey, mate,” I say as I lean closer to him, “It’s me, Harry, see? We’re at Mungo’s. We talked a bit last night, do you remember?”

 

He looks warily around the room and then at me again. He seems to study me for a moment, his eyes shifting as though searching for his memory of last night. 

 

“Yeah, I remember that,” he says softly, with slight nod. He massages his forehead and then gives me a hard look. “But who are you?”

 

~^~^~^

 

So, apparently all that time I spent crying into Ron’s pillow, praying to every higher power I’ve heard of to ‘please just let Ron wake up again;; _worked_. 

 

I just forgot to ask that he also remember me. Remember anything.

 

I’m leaning against the back wall. I suppose it look like I’m just staying out of the healers way, but I’m using the wall to keep me on my feet. I’m still waiting for the intake of every breath, only now I’m waiting for my own.

 

My best friend doesn’t know who I am. He doesn’t know I love him. He doesn’t know that he loves me.

 

Ron’s amnesia is magical, not physical. The Healers, the Weasleys’ and a few other people we know are all arguing about what kind of curse was used, and how to counter it. Hermione saw what happened better than I did. If anyone can figure out how to do it, she can.

 

I watch Ron through the boisterous crowd. He rubs his head every so often, looking so young right now. It’s the same look he had on his face while we waited in line before the Sorting Hat on the first day I met him: wide-eyed and lost but putting on a brave face. 

 

Always a Gryffindor.

 

But I’m not a nervous little boy anymore. I’m a man, and I’m terrified.

 

He looks in my direction. Our eyes meet and I see a flicker of recognition cross his face. His expression seems to be a plea to me for help. 

 

I make my way subtly to his bedside and lean close to him. His smell sends my mind right back to our life together. It’s not a sweet smell of shampoo and shaving crème and deodorant. He smells like his sweat and his blood and his breath, and I love it. 

 

“It’s, uh, _Harry_ , right?” he asks. I try not to look like I’ve just received a wave of _Cruciatus._

 

“Yeah, that’s me. Is this lot bothering you?” I ask him, jerking my thumb at everyone around us.

 

He nods his head, which must hurt because he winces. “These people are my family, right? I don’t want to be rude to anyone, but…” 

 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get rid of them.”

 

“Harry? You’ll stick around?” 

 

That’s got to mean something I guess. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

~^~

 

It takes some doing, and in none too quick a fashion, we have Ron’s hospital suite to ourselves again. Hermione is just outside the room speaking with the Healers.

 

“You don’t think they’re upset do you? The family? They seem like nice enough people, but just… _loud._ ”

 

“Nah, they are good people. They won’t mind.”

 

“ ‘M much obliged to you for sticking around. Seems kinda stupid I guess, but I don’t really want to be alone here either,” he says, his face reddening at his admission. “I don’t think I like it here. And if one more Healer comes in here and jabs me with their wand I’m gonna…” He makes a threatening hand gesture.

 

I have to chuckle. He’s still obstinate as ever.

 

We see Hermione walk past his door in the hallway.

 

“So, the bird –with the hair, what’s her name?” he asks.

 

“Hermione.”

 

“Yeah. So this Hermione, is she your girl?” I chew the inside of my cheek not to laugh.

 

“No, she’s not my girl,” I say, shaking my head

 

“Hmm. …Is she mine?” This I find less funny.

 

“Nah, you two gave it go at one point, but it didn’t work out. She wasn’t your type.” 

 

“No huh? Cute though, isn’t she?” My throat tightens so much I can only give him a feeble nod. “I gather she’s pretty bright though, eh? Everyone was listening to her. She seems to know what she’s talking about. Though I didn’t understand half of what she said.”

 

Neither did I if I’m honest. “She is brilliant. She’s our best friend. We trust her. Youcan trust _her_ … and _me_ too you know.”

 

Everything I say sounds awkward. How do I talk to him when he doesn’t even know who I am -doesn’t know who _we_ are? 

 

Feeling frustrated I rub my face with my hands and comb my fingers through my hair. I’ve never felt self conscious in front of Ron before, but suddenly I don’t want to have ridiculous hair in front of him. 

 

As I try to smooth it back down he gasps.

 

“Blimey, what’s that on your forehead?” His question fairly stuns me. I know the lightening bolt is a brighter red than it has ever been. It burned when Voldemort died. 

 

“It’s just a scar,” I say lamely.

 

“ _Wicked_ ,” he says, which almost makes me want to smile. But the way he’s gawking at me, leaning forward to get a better look, keeps me from doing so. “How’d you get it?” he asks.

 

That does seem like the obvious place to start I reckon.

 

~^~

 

Hermione agreed to go to the Burrow for the night. 

 

I have spent the past several hours telling Ron all about me. From the beginning: the scar, the Dursleys’, my cupboard. I didn’t want to sound dramatic and it felt rather stupid at first but I didn’t want to be anything other than honest with him either. I told him about his family too, as much as I could. He just looked at me and listened with that completely honest and open face of his. 

 

He’s sleeping now.  

 

He’s got at least three day’s beard growth on his jaw. I can see the shiniest gold and bronze hairs glimmering from where I sit. 

 

I want badly to feel that course stubble under my fingers and my lips. I know so well the abrasive sound our stubbled faces make when we rub against each other in the early morning. The burn it leaves on my neck and shoulders from when he’s behind me.  

 

The burn I may never feel on the back of my neck again.

 

Instinct draws me out of my chair towards him. He’s sleeping soundly, though I know the pain in his head will wake him again before morning. His hair looks so soft against his pillow and lips are parted just slightly. Before I realize I’ve even done it I have reached out and touched his face. 

 

Of course my touch wakes him up. 

 

He grabs a hold of my wrist, pulling my hand away and he frowns at me from beneath his sleepy eyelids. 

 

I-could-just-die. I close my gaping mouth. My mind racing for an excuse that I know I don’t have.

 

“Wha’ you doin’?” he mumbles, eyeing me with suspicion. 

 

“I -just -covering you up,” I say ineffectively, pulling the blanket up to his chest. “Sorry to wake you.”

 

He nods acceptance of my excuse, and releases my wrist but I can tell he doesn’t believe me. I feel like a total bloody pervert, and I’ve never felt dirty for touching him before.

 

I turn out the lamp, return to my chair and sit in the dark. There he is, completely lost and confused and putting his trust in me and I go and touch him in the middle of the night like a degenerate. I’m a fucking arse.

 

So I do something that I haven’t done in a long time, but you never forget how when you grow up in a house like I did. 

 

I cry in the dark without making a sound.

 

_Please come back to me, Ron._  

~^~


	2. Part II

~^~

 

“Mm…uh.. nguh…” The indecent, sexy, slurping noises from Ron’s bed wake me, and I look over at him.

 

“Mornin,’ ‘arry. Choc-lat-Frug?” Ron gurgled through a melty mouthful, offering me one. 

 

“For breakfast?” I ask, licking my lips as he licks his own.

 

“Hm.” He swallows, opening another squirming frog and tossing the wrapper to the side.

 

“But what about the card?” I ask. He used to always look at the card.

 

“What? Oh – um…” he says, retrieving the wrapping and peering inside. “It’s…Agrippa. Meh.” He shrugs casually and tosses it aside again.

 

Oh, Ron.

 

~^~

 

We’ve gone the whole morning without any mention of what happened between us last night. I think I’ve seen him watching me out of the corner of my eye, but if he’s suspicious, he hasn’t said anything. 

 

Hermione and I have been telling him about our second year of school.

 

After morning tea, a nurse as tall as Ron and three times as broad, with a mustache like my Uncle Vernon’s, walks in and announces that it’s time for Ron’s bath.

 

He pales, and looks to Hermione and I for help. 

 

I wish I could bathe him –just bathe him! But I know he wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t understand. 

 

But I can’t leave him in the thick hands of this nurse either, so I turn to Hermione. 

 

“What?” she asks, and then comprehending lights in her eyes. “Oh, no! I _can’t_. Harry – _Ron_.” It’s a feeble protest on her part really.

 

“Please, Hermione, you’re the only one who can. You wouldn’t want _that,”_ I nod at the nurse, “giving _you_ a bath, would you?”

 

Ron is too busy burning scarlett and picking his thumbnail to say anything, but he looks slightly relieved when she consents.

 

Hermione, with her Gryffindor courage fixed, arranges the bowl of warm water, sponge and soap on his bedside table. 

 

With her face set bravely, Ron’s heated pink, and mine directed at the floor, she pulls back his bed covers. While she removes his thin hospital robes, Hermione and I continue telling him about our past. 

 

Ron focuses his attention on me while he tolerates the bathing. 

 

I try not to notice that he is sitting there in nothing but his shorts, his lean legs still locked in a binding spell while they heal. 

 

I try not to wince at the black and purple bruises that are there; reminders of what he did to protect me. 

 

I tell him about our dorm mates, our classes, the trouble we got into. 

 

Re-telling our childhood is made considerably difficult as I _watch,_ _but don’t stare,_ as Hermione sponges soapy water over Ron’s arms, shoulders and chest. Tantalizing streams of water and tiny bubbles trickle over his biceps and run off his elbows. 

 

He is weak from his injuries, but he’s still adorably fit.

 

He listens while I tell him about Ginny and Riddle and The Diary. 

 

Hermione raises his arms, first one and then the other, over his head, washing in long strokes from his underarms down his sides along his ribs. The soft copper hair under his arms is nearly the same color as the hair that starts a line at his belly button and runs under his waistband. 

 

I’m struck with the memory of resting my head on his stomach, and playfully following that trail of fiery hair with my finger. Dragging my fingertips through the wiry curls that nestle next to tender flesh. That was when we could finally lay together, naked and sated without laughing or blushing afterwards. Just feeling whole and gratified. 

 

That was when he told he me loved me, the first time in my memory that I had ever heard those words.

 

As my story shifts onward to the Heir of Slytherin and Quidditch; Hermione shifts downward to washing his lower body. 

 

She looks determined and calm as she drapes a towel over his lap.  He gives a meek smile in her direction and then closes his eyes in the only way he can hide as she reaches underneath the towel and pulls his shorts off. 

 

I respect her for trying to maintain his dignity, and mine. But I have look at the floor again, I can’t watch.

 

“Then what happened, Harry?” he asks in a tight voice, pleading for the distraction. “Keep going.”

 

So I just talk, more than I realize I could about that time in our life. 

 

When I finally notice that Hermione has moved on from what lie under the towel on his lap, to his legs, I look up again. 

 

I’m rewarded with the pleasant surprise to find that Ron’s eyes are already on me. He smiles just a bit, but it’s the smirk that reveals the tiny dimple near the corner of his mouth that melts me. That dimple I’ve kissed a hundred times.  

 

I return his smile. Our eyes linger.

 

Was that a _moment_ between us?

 

I’m just about finished telling him our story while Hermione struggles to pull a clean pair of shorts on him, and he helps as best as he can.

 

“There we go, all done now,” Hermione announces brightly, pulling the bed sheet over his legs again. 

 

I miss the sight of his knobby knees, but am happy to have the bruises covered.

 

Hermione looks quite pleased with herself for having met the challenge.  

 

“Thanks, Hermione,” Ron mumbles, wringing the bed sheet in his hands. “Sorry.” I can tell he’s just so embarrassed, he’s beyond blushing any more.

 

“It’s no trouble, Ron,” she says, putting her hand on his cheek, leaning down to his face. “I’d do anything for my two boys, you don’t have to worry about it. But this,” she says, rubbing his scruffy face, teasing, “ _this_ will have to go.”  

 

“Huh? Oh, right,” he says, jutting his chin out, scrunching his lips, feeling his own whiskers, “I hadn’t really noticed.”

 

“I’m not certain that I could do a proper shave by hand, but I do know a pretty good hair removal charm that I use on my legs. As long I don’t get your eyebrows, it should be all right,” Hermione suggests.

 

“ _No,_ you can’t do that,” I say. They both look at me sharply. “Well, Ron, you’ve got really, sort of, sensitive skin. Shaving charms give you a rash and make you splotchy for days.” 

 

_And then I can’t kiss your cheeks_.

 

“Oh. Odd that I don’t remember…” he muses. 

_You have no idea, mate_. 

 

“I wouldn’t trust a blade in my own hand, still twitchin’ the way I am,” he says, holding hands out that still shake occasionally.

 

“I’ll do it for you. It’s no big deal.” I volunteer and I don’t allow him a response, because it is a big deal.

 

I find myself standing over him, shaving supplies from my kit in hand.

 

He nods approval for me to begin. He leans back with his eyes closed.

 

The smell of the shaving crème overtakes my senses first. A mulled scent that reminds me of elbowing him for mirror space over the sink while we shaved together. Then appreciating smooth kisses afterwards.

 

I spread the lather over his jaw, and down his neck, in long broad circles. Swirling into the short stubble. Using the tips of my first two fingers carefully around his lips and under his nose. 

 

Touching him, not too much. …Not enough.

 

Wiping my hands with the towel draped over my shoulder, I take the razor in hand. After a deep breath and a slow exhale, I begin. 

 

Long, slow strokes downward, beginning at his sideburns, going with the grain. 

 

Rinse blade. 

 

Don’t look at the water that drips onto his chest. 

 

Deep breath. 

 

Turn his other cheek, long careful scrapes of the blade.  Rinse. More droplets fall, then snake down his chest. 

He shivers and his nipples pucker. 

 

Deep breath. 

 

I angle his jaw up with my free hand. See the tendons in his neck flex –the way it does when I’ve got his cock in my mouth.

 

Breathe. 

 

Short blade strokes over his cheek. 

 

Rinse. 

 

Wipe his smooth skin clean -skin nearly as soft as his cock. 

 

Deep breath  - _his_ this time.

 

I will my hands not to shake. Mustn’t nick a freckle, he’s trusting me.

 

I try to avoid looking all freckles, strewn across shoulders, his chest, and his belly. Tormenting me as markers of all the flesh that I’ve kissed and caressed. 

 

Rinse blade. 

 

Deep breath.

 

I gently push his lower lip to the side with my thumb.

 

Short, careful blade strokes around his mouth. 

 

Try not to remember sucking his lips.

 

Or his lips on my cock.

 

Going against the grain. 

 

I trail my thumb over the bare skin, slowly, just to make sure. 

 

Smells so good. 

 

Skin is soft. 

 

Lips- full, nipples- tight, cock -hard.

 

His eyes open and they are dark. Is that lust? Uncertainty? 

 

“Harry?” he whispers.

 

“Almost,” I croak. 

 

Long blade strokes up his neck. 

 

My fingers follow the path, over his Adam’s apple, past his jaw, over his chin. Over freckles, faint scars, and his rapidly beating pulse point. 

 

Rinse. 

 

Deep breath. 

 

Nearly done.

 

With the towel on my shoulder, I wipe the remaining flecks of white lather from his now pink skin. My hands are shaking now.

 

I can feel his eyes piercing mine, but I can’t let him see what’s there.

 

He takes the towel from my hand, and tilts his head, waiting to meet my eyes. 

 

I can’t. 

 

He’ll know.

 

I leave.

 

~^~

 

I don’t shave him again. We don’t mention it.

 

He’s getting better.

 

~^~

 

“What’s all this?” I ask, looking at the pile of gifts on the bedside table. 

 

“George and Fred brought me some stuff. Weird, most of it, have a go at this.” He opens small purple tin and a bright purple spider, the size of his fist crawls out and up his arm. _I_ nearly let out a yell. 

 

“They gave me a gag spider,” he says, shrugging.

 

Ron looks mildly amused at the creeping thing, bobbling it’s way up his arm. He snorts curiously, shaking his head as he plucks it up by one leg. It dangles while the other seven legs try to wriggle free.

 

“Why do you reckon they’d give me a trick like that?” He looks so innocent. There’s not a flicker of fear of the twitching thing in his hand.

 

“I don’t know. They think they’re pretty funny sometimes.” 

 

If he doesn’t remember all his fears, why should I remind him? This is a new Ron after all…

 

~^~

 

“Bill and I have gone over this several times and I really think it can work,” Hermione explains. Her face is determined and her knuckles grip her wand so tightly, she’d almost be sexy if I had the least bit of interest in her.

 

“But, you say it _could_ hurt, this curse-reversing-spell-thing?” Ron asks, looking extremely nervous.

 

“I’m sorry, Ron, it might hurt a bit. The counter-curse will literally lift the traces of the hex out of your brain. Since we don’t know exactly how it has imbedded itself.” 

 

He looks at me, incredulous. “Do you think this is a good idea, Harry?”

 

He really does trust me. I hate to hate to decide something that will cause him any pain, but I’m a selfish bastard and I want my Ron back. “We always trust Hermione with this stuff.”

 

He nods, looking serious, preparing himself. “Right, let’s get on with it then.”

 

My stomach is in knots and my head swims while Hermione says the words and swirls her wand. 

 

Am I about to get him back? Will he remember me again? Will he hurt too badly?

 

A pale light emanates around his ginger hair when her words are complete. He flinches slightly, jerking his shoulder. Then we see tiny dots of violent green light lifting from his head. The magic being released hurts him and he yells out, gripping his head.

 

I try to rush to him, but Hermione grabs my arm. “No, Harry, we don’t want the curse to transfer to you. Let it finish.”

 

I’d rather take my chances with the curse than see at him curl up in agony, and hear his staccato whimpers. The last speck of green light dissipates.

 

The ordeal leaves him on his side, face sweating and panting to recover. 

 

I pull him upright by his shoulders, holding him to me. Hermione is next me, evaluating the results.

 

“Ron, are you all right? Can you remember anything?”

 

“That bloody well hurt, Hermione, I remember that.” He looks at her with a scowl and then softens his expression at her. He shakes his with a disappointed look. _It didn’t work._

 

Then he looks at me again, with a distant look in his eye.

 

“What? Why’re you looking at me like that?” I ask.

 

“I dunno exactly, but I think remember worrying about you, and _a dragon_?”

 

So, Hermione’s spell didn’t bring him back… but he remembers worrying about me? I hope I don’t look too pleased about that. 

 

“Oh, yeah, I was up against a dragon one time.”

 

“No way! Really?”

 

Hermione sighs, and shakes her head. “I’ll leave you two to discuss that one. I’ll try to figure out how to adjust the spell.”

 

~^~

 

I’ve just gone to sign the parchments on letting my own flat. It should have been exciting, but it wasn’t. It was lonely and strange to be out in the world without Ron.

 

When I return to his hospital suite I’m awarded with the finest sight I’ve seen in a week. Ron is on his feet, supported under each arm by Hermione and Ginny. 

 

“Harry, _look_ , I’m walking!” His face is absolutely radiant. By the strained faces of the girls, though, I wouldn’t say _walking_ is exactly the appropriate word.

 

“That’s great, Ron!” He takes a few more labored steps in my direction. The girls smile at his enthusiasm but are clearly faltering under the weight of him.

 

“Okay, wait, -hold on, I’ve got to show Harry that I can do it on my own,” he says, with excitement in his voice.

 

Standing a few feet in front of me, he steadies himself as the girls each step away from him cautiously. After a moment of concentration, a huge grin lights up his face. _Gorgeous_.

 

“Look, I’m doing it!” he says, taking another feeble step, “See, Harry? Are you watching?” 

 

I am watching and I see through his excitement and catch the shadow in his twinkling eyes, before he falters and starts to collapse.

 

I lunge forward and catch him in my arms before the sound of the girls’ screeches has left my ears. I’m holding Ron around the ribs, and he’s hanging on to my shoulders. 

 

“I’ve got you.”  

 

He’s still smiling at me.

 

“I know,” he says, eyes twinkling just inches from mine. I can feel his breath on my lips. 

 

“I’ll help you to your bed.” I’m half hard against him, holding him closer than he’s been in days.

 

“Thanks.” He doesn’t seem to notice my arousal. Or doesn’t care if he does.

 

I choose not to acknowledge the smirks that Ginny and Hermione exchange.

 

~^~

 

“What’s the matter?” I ask him.

 

“Nuthin’,” he lies. I can tell by the pink ears and pouty lips.

 

“Out with it. Spill.”

 

“You won’t be staying here anymore,” he says, avoiding me. “You went and got a new flat.”

 

“Yeah, well you’re getting better now, you don’t need me around every minute.” Even though I do want to be with him every minute. “There’s not much to the place yet. It’s kind of dreary really.”

 

“My Mum keeps talking about me ‘coming home,’ but I don’t know that place.”

 

“You’re well of age, mate, you don’t have to go there.” He doesn’t remember our plan to always live together. 

 

“Where else could I go?” he asks the lamp. Then I realize what he wants, adorable prat. 

 

“There’s room at my place,” I suggest. He was supposed to sleep in my bed of course, but I won’t mention that. “I could use a flat mate to help with the cleaning.” I’m ribbing him, but he doesn’t laugh. 

 

“I haven’t got any money, yet.” His ears positively light up. 

 

“No worries about that.”

 

“I don’t want to sponge off you, I’ll get a job.” 

 

“I know you will.” 

 

We had discussed all this on the night we promised our lives to each other. I asked him to accept everything I had to give him, including my money. He had hesitated, and wrestled with his pride. Then he said that he didn’t have anything to give me, but accepting my offer would be his gift. I knew how hard that was for him. 

 

But right now he’s smiling at me, and he wants to come home with me.

 

~^~

 

Ron’s been home with me for one day. 

 

Hermione has come to try to perform the counter curse again. Charlie came with her, this time. He follows her just inside the room, his hand resting on the small of her back.

 

He sees me look at his hand and quickly removes it. Charlie and Hermione? Huh. 

 

“Hey, Ron,” Charlie nods, from the doorway, as if afraid to come in.

 

“Charlie,” Ron nods, equally awkward. Ron didn’t seem to have noticed what I did.

 

“I’ll, uh, just wait outside then,” Charlie says, giving Hermione an encouraging nod before stepping out and shutting the door.

 

“Hermione,” Ron says. “Is everything alright?”

 

She bites her lip and frowns. 

 

“I’ve been working on this really hard.” She’s avoiding my eyes. That’s not good. “Bill and Lupin have looked over it with me, and this is the last thing I can think of. If this doesn’t work…”

 

“Well then, shall we?” That’s easy for Ron to say. If this works, he has everything to gain, but if not, we have him to lose. 

 

Hermione nods with an unconvincing smile. Ron takes a seat on the sofa, reclining and settling in; knowing what affect this has had on him in the past.

 

Her fingers are shaking, causing her wand to tremble. I put my arm around her shoulder and kiss her temple , holding her hand with mine to steady it. “You can do it Hermione, just concentrate. Bring him back to us.”

 

With our hands together, she utters the spell with confidence and authority. She a brilliant witch and I concentrate on her words and join my magic with hers. 

 

As the glow illuminates around Ron, he goes rigid. More elements of the curse rise from his head in green specks of light. This is the first time he hasn’t experienced pain.

 

As the lights swirl and fade away, he slumps forward, holding his head in his hands.

 

“Ron?”

 

After taking a moment to rub his face, he shakes his head without looking as us. 

 

No. Nothing.

 

Hermione leaves with silent tears running down her cheeks.

 

“I’m so sorry, Harry” she whispers.

 

~^~

 


	3. Part III

  
Author's notes:

Big, big thank yous to sweet shocolate for the beta and the wibbles!

* * *

~^~ 

 

I close the door behind Hermione. Leaning my forehead against it, I swallow hard and choke back the wave of pain in my heart. 

 

I’m really going to have to accept this. I’ve lost my Ron. I feel so hollow inside. 

 

I try to convince myself to be thankful that he’s still alive and that he still seems to want to be my best friend.

 

I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth against the pain so he won’t see my sorrow when I turn around.

 

“I’m really sorry,” Ron says, and I realize that he’s standing right behind me.

 

“It’s all right,” I wish I could control the hitch in my voice. 

 

“No, I mean, I’ll have to apologize to Hermione tomorrow.” He puts a hand on shoulder. “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but I wasn’t ready to say anything yet.” 

 

He puts his other hand _on my waist_. I freeze and heart thuds to sudden halt. 

 

I feel him move in close to me, his breath near my ear. My heart begins to pound and there is a rushing sound in my ears. 

 

“Harry… I _am_ _scared_ of spiders. I _will gladly_ accept all the gold in your vault, and I’m going to be having a _chat_ with Charlie and Hermione.”

 

The world seems to tilt on its axis as I turn, desperately searching his eyes. 

 

“ _Ron?_ ”

 

“It’s me, Harry.” 

 

_It can’t be._ I can feel a mild hysteria building inside of me.

“The spell _worked_?” My voice is higher than it should be. He nods, giving me a steady look.

 

“Yes, it worked.”

 

I reach for his face, but hesitate. He takes my hands and places them on his cheeks. “It’s ok. Touch me, Harry, I’m real.” 

 

_It can’t be._

 

“You remember? Everything? …Me?” The room seems to be spinning.

 

“I remember,” he says, stroking my cheek, “all of it. …Especially _you_.”

 

I grab him and pull him to me in a crushing embrace. “Oh, Ron.” 

 

_It can’t be._ I can’t feel him. I’ve gone numb. 

 

Then I feel boiling anger, as all the pain I’ve been carrying starts to well up again. Every minute of every day of the past weeks that I have had to bear all surge up in me at once.

 

I shove him away irrationally as it all begins to spill out. I pound on his chest with both fists, “you left me!”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“You did! You were gone!” I pound against his chest again, and he steps into the blows, absorbing my anguish.

 

“And you stayed with me.” He moves so close, so confidently, so calm. He’s too close for me to strike him again but I still push against him. My breathing comes in great gasps, as I struggle to breath. 

 

“You left me…”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

The room is spinning, and blackness creeps into the edges of the vivid ginger and blue in front of me as the rushing sound in my ears increases and I feel my knees give way. 

 

Holding me against him, we both collapse to the ground. He pulls me onto his lap and he leans against the door.

 

“Shh, it’s ok, Harry, I’ve got you,” I hear him say quietly over the pounding in my head. “I’m here now. I’ll never leave you again.”

 

~^~

 

We climb into bed from opposite sides like an old married couple. I feel perfectly ridiculous. He looks perfectly comfortable.

 

 One cheek twists into a grin and he tugs on the front of my tee shirt. 

 

“Take this off,” he chides, with one eyebrow raised, and I quickly do as he asks.

 

We lay on our sides, pulling the blanket to our waists, facing one another. He props himself on one elbow and leans to kiss me while he rubs circles over my chest with the palm of his hand. 

 

My mind struggles to accept that this is okay again, that I can touch his broad chest without worry. 

 

He’s got no such reservation, as his mouth claims mine. His warm tongue patiently waits for mine to meet his with equal interest.

 

He touch is gentle and slow and for the first time I feel like this exploration isn’t just a means to a fuck. 

 

I keep myself bent at the waist, and my knees pulled forward, though, I don’t want him to feel my arousal just yet. After all he’s been through he doesn’t need me acting like a randy sod who just wants to get off.

 

“Harry, would it make me a complete arse if, I want to, make –fuck …you,” he says clumsily, sounding only a little less desperate than I feel. I have to laugh with relief.

 

“You want to _make fuck_ with me?” I mock him. “That’s sweet, Ron.” To which he pinches me, blushing.

 

“Well, I thought I should say _make love_ , but that sounds sort of stupid, doesn’t it?”

 

“Out of your mouth, mate? Yeah, a bit.” I’m starting to feel my Ron again. This is really him.

 

“We don’t _have to,_ yet. I know this has all been really hard on you,” he says, with sincerity, kissing my cheek.

 

“I can show you _hard._ ” I press my cotton-covered wood against his.

 

“Oh thank Godric Gryffindor for your cock, Harry Potter,” Ron says as he grabs my arse and pulls me flush against him, wasting no more time in tugging my pajama bottoms off. 

 

“You are gorgeous.” I’ll never buy into his praise of my cock compared to his, but he seems to believe what he says, and that’s enough for me. 

 

After quickly kicking his own shorts off, we are finally naked, and stroking together and our kisses are deep and lusty.

 

His hand kneads my arse possessively and then runs down the back of my leg. 

 

“My Seeker’s thighs,” he mutters in praise, bending my knee, pulling my leg over his hip. Leaving me feeling open and exposed.

 

I can barely breathe as he boldly reacquaints himself with my balls, rolling them in his hand and squeezing until it should hurt, but never does. He still knows how far he can push me. 

 

“How, do you, want, to do this?” he mutters between sucking on my neck, and pulling our cocks together again.

 

“Want-you-in-me,” I tell him, sounding more wanton than I meant to. But it’s true, I’m desperate feel it again.

 

He looks around the room studiously, and then at me. 

 

“Is it in the drawer?” he asks, nodding at the night table.

 

“Seemed like the logical place.” He grins at my embarrassment.

 

“Don’t move,” Ron instructs, pressing on my thigh that’s still hooked firmly over his hip. He bends back, reaching to open the drawer, giving me the glorious sight of his flexing stomach, and long taut arms stretching outward. His heavy cock, a shining drop of liquid-lust at the tip, strains towards me. 

 

And how anyone does not adore freckles is beyond me. 

 

When he faces me again, after retrieving the bottle from the drawer, I can’t keep myself off his freckles. I want to connect each one on his chest with my tongue. 

 

“I love your skin,” I murmur, licking a pert, pink nipple and then I nearly bite him in shock when his slick fingers slide between my arse cheeks.

 

“Ow, Harry. Easy, love.”

 

“Sorry…. You surprised me there.”

 

“Oh, it’s been too long. You have to learn to relax again.”

 

So I try. His steady fingers rim around and around my hole until I’m no longer jumping in anticipation, but arching with desire.

 

He finally presses one fingers slowly into me, and I hold my breath. One is never enough and soon a second joins the first, and I gasp with the near perfection of it. 

 “ _Yes_ …oh…” The sensation of Ron’s long, sure fingers is enough to have me whimpering already and but it’s still not enough. 

He makes a satisfied sound in his throat that makes me open my eyes. 

 

_Fuck,_ he looks smug. But if making me whimper by twisting his fingers inside me makes him happy, I’ll never complain.

 

“Are you ready? I want you, _need_ you now,” he groans. I can only nod in agreement.

 

His sudden removal of his fingers sends a shock wave down my spine, and I long to be filled again.

 

I move to roll over, but he pushes my shoulder back into the bed, keeping me from turning my back to him. 

 

“Huh-uh,” he grunts, “I want to see you. I want to watch you when you come for me.” 

 

With words like that it won’t take much.

 

He climbs over me and my heart is racing again and before I have time to anticipate it, Ron presses the head of his cock into me. I cry out, sounding far weaker than I would have wished to.

 

“Uhh, Harry …so perfect … _fuck …_ so tight….” With each word he says, he pulls out and pushes in further again.

 

I cling to him, wrapping my arms and legs around him with all my strength. Feeling him so close, and deep inside of me. The feeling has made me remember all over again how lost I was without him. I can’t muffle the tearless sob that escapes me. 

 

“Harry. My, Harry, it’s ok now.”

 

“Lost you.”

 

“ _Found me_.”

 

“Love you.”

 

“ _Love you_.”

 

There no more words. Only rocking, panting, and sweating. 

 

He takes my hand, wrapping my fingers around my cock, and grunts in instruction to stroke. 

 

“Won’t last,” he mutters through clenched teeth. 

 

He’s right. I only stroke a few times when my balls tighten and send waves of heat radiating through me and right out of my cock. My body is so hot I can’t feel the warm drops that spurt onto my belly. 

 

“Perfect,” he whispers above me.

 

He changes the pace of his hips into short, powerful thrusts, pushing my knees high and apart. 

 

Guttural sounds are forced out of me with every powerful plunge he makes. I feel his balls slap against me when at last he throws his head back and snarls as he lets his release surge deep inside of me. 

 

“Perfect together,” I whisper.

 

“Mm, perfect.”

 

“Never apart.”

 

“Never again.”

 

~^~

 

_A/N Please take a moment to review, it means so much to me! Thank you!_


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